


oh, peach pit.

by highwaytune



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Cliche Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Not Beta Read, One Shot, The Fabulous Killjoys (Danger Days) Are Not MCR, i have no idea how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:48:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25178707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highwaytune/pseuds/highwaytune
Summary: ghoul finds kobra in the garage working, as per usual.
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Kobra Kid (Danger Days)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	oh, peach pit.

**Author's Note:**

> this title reference is from "peach pit" by peach pit, simply because i listened to it several times over while writing this. kobra is cliche and both of them are greasy, but what else is new? this is so dialect-heavy; i apologize in advance. [this is also a 3am impulsively-written and unedited piece so...it's whatever.]

Fun Ghoul pushes the garage door open with his free hand, shaking a few dark locks of greasy hair free from his ponytail in the process. To tell the truth, he's just looking for the box of zines he'd left out here earlier, but a loud bang followed by a string of expletives leads him to the back of the darkened space.

" _ Shit, _ " Kobra pants, clutching at his head with one oil-stained hand as he leans over on a box to catch his breath. 

"You okay?" Ghoul asks, smile threatening to bubble up and spill over at any moment now. “You been at it for hours, K. Gonna take a break soon?”

"I'm good," Kobra nods with another huff, standing to his full height and picking up his wrench again. "These shelves are just-  _ really _ fuckin’ low. Which doesn’t make a whole lotta sense, considering that me’n Jet are the ones who spend the most time out here..."

"Really? I can walk under 'em just fine, see?" Ghoul half-teases, holding his arms out at his sides as he slips under the shelves. 

"Aw, maybe I should leave fixin' the Am to you then!" Kobra grins, sunglasses slipping down his nose. “Y’like cars?”  
  
“‘S all numbers ‘n letters when you ‘n Jet get goin’.” Ghoul pouts, wrapping his arms around Kobra’s waist and pushing his sweaty blonde hair back. “Half th’ time I’m sure y’all’ve slipped into another language or somethin’.”  
  
Kobra’s sunglasses clatter to the floor as he leans down a little so that he’s eye to eye with Ghoul. The shorter killjoy stares back in annoyance, but he really can’t stay mad for long. Kobra’s eyes are dark and framed with darker lashes and smudged eyeliner, Ghoul can finally tell. Ghoul’s eyes are greener, with bands of brown around his pupils and flecks of gold someplace in between. His expression is set firm, but the stupid little smile on Kobra’s face makes Ghoul forget what he’d even been annoyed about in the first place.   
  
“What’re y’ starin’ at me for?” Ghoul huffs, sticking his tongue out for a split second.   
  
“Nothin’. Yer jus’ pretty.” The drawl to Kobra’s voice makes Ghoul prickle, makes his shoulders draw back, makes him stand up a little straighter. 

“Quit it,” Ghoul exhales, tearing his eyes away from Kobra’s as a twinge of red spreads across his face. 

“Hm?” Kobra hums out, chin jutted up a little. “Aw, c’mon Ghoulie. Are y’  _ really _ mad at me?”

“Not mad.” At this, the taller killjoy’s pale fingers reach out to brush stray locks of dark, singed hair behind Ghoul’s ear. Ghoul takes the chance to surge upwards, lips pressing against Kobra’s for a long enough moment to taste the remnants of peach syrup.   
  
“Jet’s gonna be _so_ mad,” Ghoul says finally, his own smile returning. “We j’st went market-runnin’ yesterday.”  
  
“I say let ‘im be mad then.” Sweat-slick freckled shoulders lift and drop again, and arms are stretched up to the ceiling. “Payback f’r takin’ Poison’s side when I was _clearly_ right.”   
  
“Dumbass.”  
  
“ _Yer_ dumbass, thank y’ very much.,” Kobra corrects, grinning wide so his canines catch the sun. 

“Alright, alright. Y’ comin’ inside soon?” Ghoul busies himself with pulling his hair up again, trying to lift as many loose strands away from his face as possible.  
  
“Sun’s goin’ down,” Kobra observes plainly, squinting at the reddish smear on the horizon. 

“Sure is. ‘S that a yes?”  
  
“I dunno. Haven’ finished fixin’ the Am yet.” 

“You c’n finish t’morrow mornin’. C’mon, it’s dinnertime…” Ghoul urges, reaching up for a handful of dark roots.   
  
“‘Kay. Thanks f’r comin’ to check on me, at least,” Kobra breathes, going in for another little peck before pulling back to smile brighter than the setting sun.   
  
“‘Course. Thanks f’r stickin with me.” Ghoul takes Kobra by the hand, pulling him inside the diner with lips still slightly sticky. 

**Author's Note:**

> maybe it's worth noting that this piece gave me a wicked craving for canned peaches.  
> this was altogether too short, and the ending was rushed, but it was my first attempt at funkobra, so be sure to let me know how i did over on my tumblr cherrikisser. thank you for reading!


End file.
